


Tell Me It Was Worth It

by Spocksandshoes



Category: Den lengste reisen | The Longest Journey, Dreamfall, Dreamfall Chapters
Genre: Canon Gay Character, Canon Gay Relationship, Domestic Bliss, Flashbacks, Fluff, Growing Old Together, Grumpy Old Men, M/M, Post-Game(s), Romance, possibly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-15
Updated: 2015-12-15
Packaged: 2018-05-06 14:02:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,597
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5419769
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spocksandshoes/pseuds/Spocksandshoes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Over the years, Kian and Likho learned to live with their wounds, and each other.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tell Me It Was Worth It

''Mrrrrwww.''

The scratching at the door worsened, and Kian groaned into his pillow, stubbornly clinging to sleep.  
His mouth felt like something had died in it, shadow, what had they drank?

''MRRRW MMRRRRWWW MMRMRRMRRRRWWWWWW'' The cat wasn't giving up, gleefully fleecing the poor doorframe til Kian rolled out of bed and stumbled sleepily to the door to pull it open.  
Scratching his chest, the ex-apostle was barely awake, pausing to wince and roll his ankle as an old wound ached in the chill of the early morning. The floor was freezing, and he blearily felt his way back to bed and crawled under the warm blankets as a fat fur ball jumped up and burrowed under the covers near his feet.

The hungover mess in the bed beside him shifted with a tired groan, and Kian curled an arm around the warm torso nestled in the pile of sheets.

''Wine never used to hurt this much.'' Likho mumbled, his bloodshot eye squinting blearily out at the world before shutting again.

''Was that wine? It tastes like I drank paint.'' Kian ran his tongue along the inside of his teeth, wincing. Speaking felt like he was swallowing a spiked mace.

There was a quiet, begrudging chuckle, and the other body shifted, arms wrapping around Kian in turn, so they lay, face-to-face, legs lazily tangling in the quiet room. 

''Kiss me.'' Likho murmured, when they were both a little more awake, and Kian shifted closer to press their mouths together, soft and lazy.

''Your beard is out of control.'' There was a grumble, and Kian slid a hand down Likho's warm back to warm his chilled hands in quiet revenge for the slight.

''I like my beard. YOU like my beard.''

''Mm.'' Likho was kissing right back, hands running through Kian's hair, a slow, familiar motion. The house was quiet, sun warming the room, swirling the dust motes through the air. 

''MRRRWLWLWWWLWWWW.''

The cat decided that not being fed was the worst of indignities, and they groaned in unison, abandoning their actions and sitting up. 

''Alright, alright. Breakfast.''

 

**

 

Breakfast was fresh-baked bread and churned butter, melted and lathered over the loaf slices. Sharp cheese and fried bacon and sweet chutneys. Hot tea.

They sat in their warm sunny kitchen, the wood warm and cosy, in their pyjamas, nursing their hangovers away. Likho poured Kian more tea. Kian cut more cheese. The cat sat under the table and Kian pretended not to notice Likho sneaking her scraps of meat.

''Dad? Dad?''  
The front door was squeaked open, someone cursing their way through the doorway and stamping their boots off in the hall. ''That door needs oiling!'' A tall Dolmari complained, bustled into the kitchen with a basket full of fresh veg in his hands.  
''I nearly died getting through it.''

''Quiet down, we're hungover.'' Likho grumbled and poured the extra cup, trying to control the shake in his hands. It had gotten worse as the years went by, but he still insisted on not being helped.

Kian nudged out the extra chair with his toe and the man flopped down into it, setting the basket on the table.  
''That hurts. Nearly murdered by your door and 'Quiet down' is all I get? WELL. THANKS DAD. I'LL REMEMBER TH-''

''Shut up, Bip.'' Kian said, warmly, and Bip beamed at him, leaning back in his chair. 

''Where's Fatty? I want to see- oh THERE my fatcat is!'' The young man swept the disgruntled cat up from the floor, enthusiastically cuddling the poor thing. Kian exchanged glances with Lihko, and felt nothing but contentment. Bip was tall and lanky now, with a decent attempt at a beard hiding the darker patches of pigment on his cheeks. And his own taste in awful multicoloured clothing to boot.  
He had grown so much from that thin scrappy boy in Old Town.

''We called her Intiqua.'' Likho told him in the voice of a parent who had had this conversation a dozen times and was just keeping up appearances.

''Well _I_ called her Fatty. Don't you prefer the name Fatty? Yes you do!'' He bobbed the cats head up and down. ''Look, she's nodding!''

Kian looked down at the table, of Likho and his hands clasped across it. The hands were young and strong once, but now they were lined from a hard life, scarred and arthritic. 

As Bip continued to chatter on, Kian squeezed the hand in his.

***  
Bip had been with them for years, but nothing was as scary as the first few months of unexpected fatherhood. ,

''Read me a story!'' Bip had looked like a bread roll that the sand-witches used to make in Old Town, swaddled up in his blankets in the small attic room. In the panicked state of two men who hadn't a notion about Parenthood, they had got toys they'd thought he'd like, green quilts and books and Enu even painted the wooden walls with bright little pictures of animals and trees and flowers.

The boy they brought back from Ge'en was different. Quieter.  
He knew his parents were not coming home.  
So he accepted the room, and the toys, and slowly, in his own little way, came to accept them too.

He was sitting in his bed in this particular memory, an old teddybear in his arms, staring up at Likho, who looked completely lost.

''A..story.''

''Yeah! Mama used to tell me stories. About fun things. Tell me one!''

Kian had leant against the door and listened as Likho sat on the edge of the bed, and laced his hands together.

''I'm.. not good with stories.''  
''I don't mind!'' Bip wheedled, clearly determined to get his story, and Likho sighed.  
''There was this... boy. Years ago. A Dolmari boy.''  
''Ooh, like me! Was it me?''  
''...No.''  
''Aww.''

''....as I was saying... This boy lived with his parents. On a farm. With cows. Simple folk. But this boy, he..dreamed of being a pirate. More than anything. A big ship, with red sails, and a hundred cannons, enough to sail away from where he lived, with a crew of pirates.''  


Kian stayed for the whole story, heart full and heavy.  
He escaped quietly as Likho finished his tale with a 'to be continued' and tucked Bip in, but halfway down the stairs there was a creak at the top of it signalling that he'd been caught.

He stilled guiltily, and turned. Lihko looked tense, awkward, jammed into a role of fatherhood that he had no idea how to fill.  
He looked lost, and the Azadi knew how he felt. Kian motioned him downstairs with a quiet motion of his head, and Likho kissed him when he reached the bottom step. 

Likho told the bedtime stories from then on. He even got good at it. And Kian would be outside the door, listening, til he was dragged in one night, so they both told the story til Bip grew too old for tales of pirate adventures. 

 

**

 

The first time they kissed, Likho didn't speak to him for a month. Kian didn't blame him.  
Old wounds. 

When he spent the night, Kian found Likho on his knees the next day, praying to his father for forgiveness.  
Kian understood. It was two pieces of a puzzle that almost fit, but the jagged edged and splinters made it impossible.  
They almost worked, but not quite.

It took years for Likho to stop praying, it took years for him to forgive Kian, and himself. 

It took years for Kian to look at Likho and see something other than a reminder of his own sins.

''You said I owed you my life.'' He said once, sitting in a quiet corner of the Rooster and Kitten, and Likho had made a noise that was almost a laugh. ''You sound like you want me to take it.''

''It's yours either way.''

He was sure Likho would brush it off, but instead the Dolmari had set down his pint and fixed him with such a honestly sad look that he had felt his insides squirm in discomfort. He had wondered quickly if April had told Likho the same.

Years later, he realised that he didnt know if he would have preferred Likho to laugh it off and call him a sap instead.

***

''You've gone gray.''  
Likho paused in shaving to make the criticism and Kian raised his eyebrows, indicating that maybe the man with the cut-throat razor to his throat shouldn't be making criticisms. Likho grunted in response and Kian went back to grumpily brushing cat, hairs off his shirt, how did the cat even get into the shadow-forsaken cupboards-  
''You've always been gray.''

Likho stared at him in the mirror. ''Fair point.''

Kian scrubbed a hand through his more-salt-than-pepper beard, peering over Likho's shoulder and admiring himself in the looking-glass. He needed glasses, he had to squint to see himself. 

''I look less like Azadi now. You think I could pass for a Dolmari?'' He asked jokingly, and Likho made a quiet, amused sound, tapping the foam back off the razor and into the washbowl of warm soapy water. ''A pale Dolmari.''

''A pale Dolmari.'' Kian repeated, tracing the deep scars over Likho's shoulders with his eyes and knowing that the gouges on his own skin matched the same, from their bout in the catacombs underneath Marcuria's Old Town, over a decade ago. He didn't touch those scars though, some things were too personal. ''Is that less or more attractive?''

''I've no idea. You're standing on my blind side.''

 

***

 

''Oh Balance, Likho, is that a bun?''

Enu perched on the table, the Zhid clearly not having learned basic table manners in twenty years.  
Likho didn't bother to answer, and Enu caught Kians eyes and rolled her own, gesturing to Likho's hair, messily stuffed into a hair bun instead of his usual ponytail. ''I know your hands aren't what they used to be but a bun? Has Bip died of embarrassment yet? I mean, not that it's not lovely, because it is! It's just.... yknow, different!''

Kian handed her bowl of tiny spiced nuts and she grabbed a handful. If she was eating, she couldn't talk and embarrass herself.

''Anyways, Bip is really nervous for you to meet this girl so don't do your scary face Kian- yes that one.''

''This is my normal face.''

''Well don't do it! You never smile and the beard makes you look all bushy and angry. And Likho.... try to smile too? Just one big one so the girl doesn't run a mile?'' Enu wheedled and Likho snorted and eyed her sideways, in a way that was so grumpy it had to be fond.

He passed around wine and they talked long into the night, all of them feeling young for a while.

''To Shepard.'' Enu said, raising her glass, voice cracking with emotion even after all this time.

''To April.'' Kian said as he raised his glass, and didn't miss the warm look Likho gave him.

''To our fallen.'' Likho said, and he raised his, and they all drank.

That night, his arms around the sleeping Dolmari, Kian wondered why they were still alive. All the awful things committed, all the death, all the good men and women dead, but they were here. 

And as Likho muttered something in his sleep, Kian wondered if this was it. If spending a life strewn with episodes of this was why he was here. If the long hard road to this moment made it worth it.

 

**

 

Likho dozed in front of the fireplace, Fatty already curled up on his chest and purring like an engine.  
The Grumpy-old-man look suited Likho. Age had softened his edges. His frown was more grumbly than angry these days.

He hated dogs. Said they were too friendly. Too close and affectionate. Cats were aloof and mistrustful, and their affection was earned, and that suited Likho perfectly. Kian had gotten Fattys' mother for Likho years ago, and there had been cats in the family ever since. Likho had carried the lot of them in his arms, and slept unmoving, to avoid crushing whatever kittens had curled up beside him. Even now, in a house with no kittens.

The cats had had proper names but somewhere along the way, Bip had changed them all. Fatty's mother was called 'Stump', because of her small legs. Fattys son Melly was so called because 'he's round like a melon.' And there was not a damn thing the two men could do about it when the Cats actually responded to these new names.

Melly, a large ginger Tomcat, wound around Kian's ankles, and he crouched to pet him, grunting at the creak of his knees. Melly let him scratch behind his ears before padding away to join his mother, napping on Likho's belly. 

Likho muttered in his sleep, and Kian grabbed a blanket off their bed and draped it over him, letting the two cats settle happily under the blankets.

He was writing a ciphered letter to old friends when Likho's footsteps padded up behind him and a comfortable weight rested on his shoulders, the Dolmari quietly watching the slow process. It was slow because Kian definitely needed glasses, and had to squint an inch from the page to see the letters. 

''Asking the Azadi to come back for you?'' Likho mumbled, voice sleep-slurred and rough.

Kian scratched his beard and eyed the page. ''Direct instructions to Azada-dir's Government to come get this one-eyed bastard who drinks all the wine we have.''

 

***

''Shit!'' There was a clattering from the kitchen, startling Kian from his work sweeping the stairs. Images of bandits or Azadi assassins surfaced, murky and scary still, as he set the broom down and headed to investigate.

Likho was staring in frustration at the pan upturned on the floor. Bacon grease was leaking over the floorboards.

''Shadow.''  
Kian hurried forward, but Likho shook his head, glaring at the pan, his hands shaking in that worrying twitch.  
''No, I-''

''Likho.'' He said softly, taking the Dolmari's blue hands in his and holding them tightly til the shaking stopped.  
''I just dropped it, I couldn't-''

''It's okay.'' His heart ached, because he understood. Knowing that you were no longer young and strong was tough.  
It hurt to feel weak and soft, muscle turning to a soft belly and weapons feeling too heavy. It bit deep.

''I'm fine.'' Likho went to pull his hands away, but it didn't last long. It was a lesson hard- learned, but slowly over time he had realised that being cared for was not a bad thing. That his weaknesses were safe in Kians hands, as Kians were safe in his.

''No you're not.'' Kian told him and Likho caught his eyes and sighed.

Old men. The resignation hurt more than the realisation sometimes.

''When did we get so old?'' Likho muttered, and Kian squeezed his hands, lost for words.

 

***

Likho was quiet on his fathers anniversary, every year. Old wounds.

Kians shoulder pained him every winter, where the socket had once been injured.  
Likho's hands were a criss-cross of old scars, nicks from his blades.  
The tattoos on Kians face, the dark hollow that used to hold Likho's eye.  
Old wounds.

There were new wounds too, the top of Kian's middle finger on his left hand was now gone.  
One of Likho's molars had been knocked loose. 

They had caused most of the others wounds in some way or another.  
But they lived well with each other's demons. 

So the wounds didn't matter so much. They were worth it.  
***

**Author's Note:**

> Shoutout to Ustru, whos' comment was the inspiration for this ficlet.  
> Thanks for the idea bro!


End file.
